


and love will not break your heart

by leigh57



Category: 24
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost babyfic, but not quite?</p>
            </blockquote>





	and love will not break your heart

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just popping this on AO3 for archiving purposes, because it never went in my LJ. This is all part of the AU (existing in random places) in which Renee winds up accidentally pregnant. If that's not your thing, definitely do not read on!
> 
> Title is from Mumford & Sons 'After the Storm.'

He rinses off the last plate and sticks it in the dishwasher, clicking it to the energy-saving cycle and drying his hands before he touches the iPod to stop the _News Hour_ recap.

Quietly, he pads into the living room, grabbing his phone when it vibrates.

Text from Kim. _Hi Daddy. I understand if you're too busy, but Teri has some apple orchard field trip tomorrow and Stephen got called in. It's only a couple hours. Any chance you can go?_

With his left index finger (it shakes less frequently than the right one for some reason) he taps, _Sure. Tell me what time and I'll be there. Kiss her goodnight for me. I love you._

He pockets the phone and sinks into the huge plush charcoal grey chair Renee picked out a couple months ago, rubbing his fingers over itchy, tired eyes.

Renee is passed out on the matching couch, _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ open on her stomach. She looks so pale; deep purplish-blue circles make matching crescents under eyelashes that flutter every few seconds.

She's fallen asleep twenty minutes or half an hour after dinner for the past two weeks, maybe a touch more. And each time she wakes up irritable, apologetic.

_Shit, I need to finish the laundry. I only meant to shut my eyes for a second._

or

_Dammit Jack, why didn't you wake me up? It's been my turn to do the dishes for three days!_

He watches her breathe, staring at the exact location on her chest where he knows that, were the purple fabric of her blouse to vanish, he'd see a perfect round knot of white scar tissue. His eyes keep moving, further down to the part of her abdomen the book doesn't cover. Her blouse has slid up a little, and he can see a smooth strip of skin above her hip.

Nothing looks any different.

Yet.

The panic smashes through him, predictable as her post-dinner naps.

Sweat shivers up his spine and creeps out over his shoulders. His stomach muscles tighten and knot. His heart drums so fast it's uncomfortable, edging towards unnerving for a guy whose heart isn't in the best shape anyway.

When Teri was pregnant with Kim, there was never _time_.

Work, grocery shopping, bills, fights over money, Teri in tears on the phone with her mom. More work. He's aware that in the literal sense it took nine and a half (Kim never _would_ cooperate) months, but at the time it seemed more like a long week.

Now, seconds seem to stretch; the three sweaty, jittery minutes he's been sitting feel like half an hour.

This time, he doesn't have to worry -- about money, work, angry family members, or making sure all the health insurance forms are turned in.

What he _does_ have to do is spend a minimum of ten minutes talking himself down every time Renee walks out the door in the morning.

He quietly lifts the ridiculously large book off her chest, takes ten deep, slow breaths, and opens the paperback Sudoku Dr. Macer gave him at his last checkup. Stupid fucking book. He doesn't have the patience for this.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, Renee blinks her eyes open and rolls to her side, facing him. "You washed the dishes again, didn't you?" she mumbles, her voice that unique cocktail of sexy sleepiness she bothers to disguise when anyone besides him is in the room. "I _really_ wish you'd let me do something."

He could say that he would do every dish in the universe until the end of time if there were even a one percent chance that it would keep her safe. Healthy. _Alive_.

But she would kick his ass, so he doesn't say that.

He goes for diversion. "What'd you learn?" He flicks his eyes toward the book that now rests on the coffee table.

"God. That if I don't sleep on my left side for every _second_ of this pregnancy, the baby will die. Immediately." She rolls her eyes. "I was on my back, wasn't I?"

He forces a grin. "Left side the whole time."

"Liar."

"You feeling okay? Do you want me to make some tea?"

"Maybe in a minute." She pauses, rubbing the hem of her blouse between her fingers. "Will you come over here with me for a sec?"

It still amuses him how she phrases that stuff like a question, like he's ever _once_ said no.

She scoots into the cushions to make room for him and pulls him close, her forehead on his, her knee between his thighs. He breathes in her shampoo and that horrifying eggnog lip gloss Kim gave her for Christmas.

Loves it anyway.

"I kind of want my body back," she whispers, her fingers fiddling with a button on his Henley. "I should be able to stay conscious until eight p.m., don't you think?"

"I think-" He stops himself, cautious. She hates anything that makes her feel weak, not in control. "I think you should remember that I _like_ doing the dishes and letting you rest." His heart has already stopped pounding, the feel of her ribs beneath his fingers better than any anti-anxiety medication on the market. "This is gonna pass." He clears his throat. "And when it does, I promise to let you do them for a month."

She yawns. "You are so full of shit."

But obviously that's okay, because she closes her eyes again and burrows closer, her arm tight over his back and her face snuggled into his chest.

It's not even a minute before her breathing evens again.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the voices passing in the hall, the rushing swish of the dishwasher, and the retreating demons in the back of his mind.

He's not stupid. They'll be back tomorrow if he's lucky, in the deep black dark of pre-dawn if he's not.

But he'll worry about that later, because right now, she's just asleep enough that he can sneak his hand underneath her blouse and cover the warm skin he finds there.

It's not protection, but in the magic sleepy silence, it feels close enough.


End file.
